Mr Darwin's Gardener Read Online Free Page B
Author: Kristina Carlson
ordinary people. A gardener should stick to his spade. If he has ambition, let him grow a rose with multilayered petals, a cup-like corolla and an unusual colour â not blue, though. He could name the rose after his wife. Blackened tomato stalks lean against the shed wall.
The children stand on the step. I smile. All is well, all is well. I take the picnic basket from Cathyâs hand. The children run along the gentle slope in their thick, dark clothes. The grass glows green even in the cloudy light. In death, Gwyn was as light as a bird. Reason prescribes balance and moderation. But my heart just keeps on pumping sludge, which dims the blood and the mind. Noman in his senses sets fire to a well-made, solid-oak bed; only a man full of grief, like Job.
â¦yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.
John opens the gates and shuts the gates. On the hill, they sit down on rocks to eat sticky pieces of bread. John asks Father to tell of the voyage of HMS
Beagle
. Thomas has told the story many times and embellished it with pirates and treasures and cyclones.
No, today he tells the story of a garden party held by the Spanish court in 1623.
An Italian named Mr Cesare Fontana planned the magnificent evening event in the garden. Nobody had ever seen such a feast before, nor have they since. This is not a tale from
Arabian Nights
, but as true as they come. The feast was attended by the King and the Queen, who came dressed in velvet cloaks and furs and bejewelled crowns and gold chains. The courtiers and ladies- in-waiting and aristocrats and foreign invitees were also splendidly attired. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted chickens and pies and fancy cakes. Vats stood full of dark-red wine, and hot chocolate flowed from silver jugs into silver mugs.
Most resplendent of all was the garden itself. It boasted box trees, magnolias, brilliant bougainvillea, fragrant lilies in different colours, palm trees, hundreds of different roses, narcissi and hyacinths. The scent was as of a thousand open perfume bottles. There were even more wondrous things in the garden than the trees and flowers, for Mr Fontana had had quite weird oddities constructed there. Light silver thread had been braided and fashioned into beautiful decorations. Fairy castles, lightweight and gleaming as cobweb, hung on the branches of trees. Nextto real trees stood trees forged from metal and decorated with jewels. The light from the colourful lanterns hanging on the metal branches glittered in rainbow baubles.
Butterflies of silver and gold floated on the branches of the real trees. Mechanisms made their wings flutter. It was as if the butterflies were really flying. Massive, ferocious dragons had been forged from iron and they too flapped their bat-like wings and belched real flames out of their gaping jaws. Whether children were allowed to the party, I do not know, for the butterflies and fairies were beautiful but the dragons frightening.
They were allowed, John says.
They were allowed, Cathy says.
The best and most exciting thing happened at the end.
All of a sudden, the ground began to tremble under the party guestsâ feet. Astonished, they all took fright. A volcano built from clay threw glowing sparks into the night sky, like a hundred dragons. Ladies and gentlemen and young men and maidens began rushing hither and thither. They held on to their hats, their cloaks and each other, for they all thought it was for real and the tremors would cause them to plunge into the earth and burning lava to flow over them. But no!
At that very moment, an orchestra concealed in the shadows of the garden struck up merry music. The trembling of the ground ceased and the volcano erupted red, blue and green rockets, which spread out against the night sky, sparkling flowers and fountains.
The guests laughed and clapped their hands, for all the frightening events had been arranged for their amusement. They drank more wine and danced to the
The children stand on the step. I smile. All is well, all is well. I take the picnic basket from Cathyâs hand. The children run along the gentle slope in their thick, dark clothes. The grass glows green even in the cloudy light. In death, Gwyn was as light as a bird. Reason prescribes balance and moderation. But my heart just keeps on pumping sludge, which dims the blood and the mind. Noman in his senses sets fire to a well-made, solid-oak bed; only a man full of grief, like Job.
â¦yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.
John opens the gates and shuts the gates. On the hill, they sit down on rocks to eat sticky pieces of bread. John asks Father to tell of the voyage of HMS
Beagle
. Thomas has told the story many times and embellished it with pirates and treasures and cyclones.
No, today he tells the story of a garden party held by the Spanish court in 1623.
An Italian named Mr Cesare Fontana planned the magnificent evening event in the garden. Nobody had ever seen such a feast before, nor have they since. This is not a tale from
Arabian Nights
, but as true as they come. The feast was attended by the King and the Queen, who came dressed in velvet cloaks and furs and bejewelled crowns and gold chains. The courtiers and ladies- in-waiting and aristocrats and foreign invitees were also splendidly attired. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted chickens and pies and fancy cakes. Vats stood full of dark-red wine, and hot chocolate flowed from silver jugs into silver mugs.
Most resplendent of all was the garden itself. It boasted box trees, magnolias, brilliant bougainvillea, fragrant lilies in different colours, palm trees, hundreds of different roses, narcissi and hyacinths. The scent was as of a thousand open perfume bottles. There were even more wondrous things in the garden than the trees and flowers, for Mr Fontana had had quite weird oddities constructed there. Light silver thread had been braided and fashioned into beautiful decorations. Fairy castles, lightweight and gleaming as cobweb, hung on the branches of trees. Nextto real trees stood trees forged from metal and decorated with jewels. The light from the colourful lanterns hanging on the metal branches glittered in rainbow baubles.
Butterflies of silver and gold floated on the branches of the real trees. Mechanisms made their wings flutter. It was as if the butterflies were really flying. Massive, ferocious dragons had been forged from iron and they too flapped their bat-like wings and belched real flames out of their gaping jaws. Whether children were allowed to the party, I do not know, for the butterflies and fairies were beautiful but the dragons frightening.
They were allowed, John says.
They were allowed, Cathy says.
The best and most exciting thing happened at the end.
All of a sudden, the ground began to tremble under the party guestsâ feet. Astonished, they all took fright. A volcano built from clay threw glowing sparks into the night sky, like a hundred dragons. Ladies and gentlemen and young men and maidens began rushing hither and thither. They held on to their hats, their cloaks and each other, for they all thought it was for real and the tremors would cause them to plunge into the earth and burning lava to flow over them. But no!
At that very moment, an orchestra concealed in the shadows of the garden struck up merry music. The trembling of the ground ceased and the volcano erupted red, blue and green rockets, which spread out against the night sky, sparkling flowers and fountains.
The guests laughed and clapped their hands, for all the frightening events had been arranged for their amusement. They drank more wine and danced to the
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